


More Than Two

by elirwen



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Happy Ending, M/M, Nightmares, Past Abuse, Polyamory, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-09-29 17:36:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17207873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elirwen/pseuds/elirwen
Summary: Fresh out of an abusive relationship, Merlin moves into a shared flat with Arthur and Mordred.





	More Than Two

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Polomonkey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polomonkey/gifts).



> Dear Polomonkey, I'm sincerely hoping you'll enjoy my offering. I loved your prompts and it took me a while before I settled on which one I want to write, but in the end the first one won out because there's simply not enough of this lovely ship around and it was perfect for some emotional hurt/comfort.  
> I wish you lots of love and happiness in the new year! &heart

“Is this all?” Arthur asks, eyeing the six boxes containing all of Merlin’s belongings. 

“I don’t need much,” Merlin says, forcing himself to smile and hoping it looks at least a bit believable. He’s not ready to admit out loud that big part of his possessions disappeared in the pit of despair that was his life for a year and a half, destroyed, thrown out, sold by a person who made him believe her abuse to be love.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to steal all her toilet paper, cover the couch in toothpaste, hide fish in her wardrobe..?” Mordred asks. He’s not even joking. 

“I’m sure,” Merlin says, his smile genuine this time. 

It’s strange, carrying the boxes into the car and closing the door to his former home for the last time. The relief is immense, but there’s also sadness creeping in. It was not all bad after all. There were nice moments. Many of them even. He wants to believe at least part of them were genuine, not just a tool to keep him docile, convinced there was nothing wrong with their relationship. 

“Are you okay?” Arthur asks, bumping their shoulders together. 

“Not really, no,” Merlin says, blinking away the moisture springing in his eyes. 

Arthur doesn’t try to cheer him up which Merlin is immensely grateful for. He needs this. He needs to process what he’s feeling, to feel it in his bones that he’s doing the right thing. 

“Okay, let’s go,” he says after several minutes of nothing but deep breaths and silence. 

It’s time to move on.

 

***

 

His hands shake as he pours himself a cup of water, quickly gulping it down and pressing the cold ceramic of the mug to his forehead. He forces himself to deepen his breathing, grips the edge of the kitchen counter to feel something solid under his fingers, something other than the panicked fluttering of his rapidly beating heart. 

“Fuck,” he breathes out, his voice shaky, his legs weak under him.

The mug clatters into the sink. Merlin slides to the floor, collapses against the cupboard. He hugs his knees, tries to curl into as tight a ball as possible, to out-squeeze the squeeze of panic in his chest. 

“What’s wrong?” Mordred’s voice startles him, makes him look up on instinct. 

He can’t speak, his throat constricting, so he shakes his head instead, not even sure what he’s trying to convey by that. 

Mordred joins him on the floor, sitting beside him and wrapping his arm around his shoulders, his other hand petting Merlin’s knee in a soothing manner.

“It’s okay, just breathe,” Mordred whispers. “You’re safe now.”

Gradually Merlin relaxes, panic subsiding, giving way to bone deep exhaustion and shame.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, reluctant to pull away from Mordred’s comforting warmth but doing it anyway. 

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Mordred says, standing up and helping Merlin to his feet. “Will you be okay going back to sleep now?”

“Not yet,” Merlin says. “I’m still too wired. It wouldn’t end well.”

“How about some tea then? There should be some chamomile blend somewhere,” Mordred says, not waiting for Merlin’s answer and already digging through the top cupboard. 

“You don’t have to stay up with me. I’ll be fine,” Merlin says.

“I know, but I want to,” Mordred answers with a smile, presenting him with a half-empty box of tea.

 

***

 

“We have cleaners coming every Thursday,” Arthur says, depositing the bag with takeaway on the kitchen table.

“I spilt some coffee,” Merlin explains, looking up from wiping the counter, and goes back to his task.

“That must have been quite a spill,” Arthur says, humour in his voice. “Was there any coffee left in the cup?”

It makes Merlin pause, his eyes straying to the nearly full cup that he put aside when he started cleaning. 

“It was just a few drops,” he says, letting go of the wet cloth and backing away, leaning against the kitchen table. 

Just leaving her and moving out wasn’t enough. She’s still plaguing his nightmares. Her conditioning is still buried deep in his brain. Even away from her he isn’t free of her. 

He walks away from the kitchen, ignores Arthur’s “are you okay?” and heads straight for his room. He stops a few steps in, staring blankly ahead. What is he supposed to do? How can he rid himself of her influence? Is it even possible?

There’s a knock at his door. And another a few seconds later.

“Merlin?” Arthur calls out. “Can I come in?”

A short pause.

“You forgot your coffee.”

Merlin sighs, turns around and opens the door to Arthur looking worried, Merlin’s cup in his hands like some sort of an offering.

“Thanks,” Merlin says, accepting the cup and taking a sip of the now lukewarm liquid. 

“Was it something I said?” Arthur asks.

Merlin shakes his head, breathing in the pleasant aroma of the dark roast.

“She trained me well,” he says with a bitter smile.

“Oh,” Arthur says, understanding dawning. He steps from foot to foot, a moment of uncharacteristic uncertainty for someone otherwise so confident. “I brought dinner. Mordred has his yoga class so there’s no point in waiting for him,” Arthur continues, grasping for some normalcy.

“What did you bring?” Merlin asks, offering Arthur a tired smile. 

“Chicken tikka masala,” Arthur says, smiling back. “Your favourite,”

 

*** 

 

“Don’t you dare,” Mordred says.

Merlin looks up from the book he’s been reading, watches Mordred slowly back away towards the couch, grin on his lips contradicting his words. Arthur pounces, tumbling Mordred onto the sofa, going straight for Mordred’s ticklish spots.

Watching Mordred and Arthur interact in their day to day life is fascinating for someone who never experienced a healthy relationship. It’s comforting to see their easy familiarity, casual touches, to hear their playful teasing and cheesy innuendos. It gives Merlin hope that abuse isn’t all there is, that domestic bliss is possible.

“Still think Gwaine makes better pasta?” Arthur asks.

“Yes,” Mordred gasps out.

“Oh you…” Arthur trails off, sliding his hands under Mordred’s shirt, prompting yet more laughter and squirming.

“There are better.. ways… to convince me,” Mordred manages to say in between helpless giggles.

“I bet there are,” Arthur says, dropping on top of Mordred and kissing him senseless.

Fascinating and also painful. It sets off the yearning that fills Merlin’s stomach, makes him ache for something he might never have.

 

***

 

“No one can love you the way I do,” the message says.

“Don’t you miss me? I miss you so much,” says another.

Messages pile, full of sweet words and lies.

“You should block her,” Mordred says, taking the phone from Merlin’s hand and laying it screen down on the table before he pushes a cup of hot chocolate and a peanut butter cookie towards him.

“I know,” Merlin sighs.

He knows, yet he can’t do it.

 

***

 

Merlin wakes up with a jolt, confused and disoriented.

“Easy there,” Arthur says, his hand a comforting pressure between Merlin’s shoulder-blades. “I didn’t want to wake you but sleeping at the kitchen table is not a good idea.”

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” Merlin mumbles.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed,” Arthur says, ruffling Merlin’s hair.

Merlin doesn’t even protest when Arthur follows him to his room and tucks him in, smoothing the blanket over his torso and sitting down.

“You can always come to our bed if the nightmares become too much. We won’t mind,” Arthur says, carding his fingers through Merlin’s hair, lulling him to sleep.. “We don’t like to see you hurting.”

Drifting off to sleep, Merlin feels gentle press of lips on his forehead, but maybe he’s already dreaming.

 

***

 

“What’s the occasion?” Merlin asks when Arthur brings out a small, richly decorated chocolate cake and Mordred pours them a glass of red wine that is most likely specially selected to complement the sweet treat.

“We’re celebrating your first week back at work,” Mordred says.

“It’s not that big an occasion,” Merlin mumbles.

There’s nothing special about working in a library. And he could have worked all the time. It’s not like he was ill or unable to find himself a job. 

When the bookstore he worked at closed due to bankruptcy over a year ago, he could have not listened to his ex that she needed him home, that he wasn’t all that good at his work anyway, that it’s better to save himself the hardbreak of unsuccessful job interviews. He believed her then, completely under her thumb, convinced that he had nothing to offer the world other than being an obedient kept man. 

“It’s not that big a cake,” Arthur quiips back, attempting and partially succeeding in pulling Merlin from his self-deprecating thoughts. 

“And you know Arthur’s sweet tooth. He’d use any excuse to buy a cake,” Mordred says, grinning. 

“Says the man addicted to chocolate,” Arthur says.

“That’s why we work so well together,” Mordred says with a shrug. “I’ll get the plates,” he adds, presses a quick kiss to Arthur’s lips and dashes back to the kitchen. 

 

***

 

When nightmare wakes him that night, the panic and loneliness pressing on him from all sides, he lets go of his pride, gives up on being brave. He trots through the dark flat, slipping into his friends’ room, approaching their bed. He touches Arthur’s shoulder, adds a bit more pressure when that gets him no reaction.

“Arthur,” he whispers.

Arthur huffs out something unintelligible, but he’s stirring, waking up.

“What is it?” Arthur mumbles, still half-asleep.

“Can I..?” Merlin whispers.

Arthur makes a questioning sound, Merlin’s hints obviously too vague for his sleepy mind.

“Can I sleep here?” Merlin finishes this time.

“Sure,” Arthur says, but instead of rolling away to give him some space like Merlin expected, he rolls out of the bed and stands up. “After you,” he says then, motioning for Merlin to climb in.

Reluctantly, Merlin slides under the covers, shifting towards the centre of the huge bed. He thought he’d just curl up on the side of the mattress, not that he’d get to lie in the middle. He shouldn’t be intruding like that. Then again, it was Arthur who offered the space. Will Mordred be okay with that though? The remnants of the nightmare induced panic mix with the growing confusion, and Merlin wonders whether it was a good idea to come here.

Facing Mordred feels weird when he’s unaware of Merlin’s presence, but facing Arthur would feel weird too, so he settles on his back, keeping his arms close to his chest, trying to occupy as little space as possible. The mattress moves as Arthur settles back down and Merlin startles when Arthur’s hand finds his. 

“Is this okay?” Arthur whispers.

“Yeah,” Merlin whispers back, hyper-aware of the gentle sweep of Arthur’s thumb over the back of his hand. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? Both of you?” he asks after a few seconds of silence.

“Stop worrying,” Mordred’s sleepy voice comes from his right, together with him rolling on his front, his arm resting against Merlin’s, spreading heat into his tight muscles. 

“What he said,” Arthur adds. “Just relax and try to sleep. We’re here for you.”

Merlin closes his eyes, wills his muscles to loosen, counts his breaths as they grow deeper. He concentrates on the warmth, on the gentle press of skin against skin. Soon he loses his count, sleep carrying him away.

 

***

 

“We were thinking about going out for lunch. Will you join us?” Mordred says when Merlin emerges from the bathroom, pleasantly loose after the hot shower and over nine hours of uninterrupted sleep.

He woke up alone at nearly eleven, well-rested and calm. Only when he rolled out of bed after several minutes of leisurely stretching did a bit of anxiety found its way back. What if living together becomes awkward now? A worry which proved completely unfounded when he emerged from the bedroom and faced only smiles and questions about his well-being.

“Wouldn’t want to third-wheel on your date,” Merlin says, half-joking.

He knows he’s been imposing on their time and privacy. They were living alone before Merlin accepted their offer of living in their guest room and now he’s always underfoot, even going as far as invading their bed.

“You a third wheel? That could never happen,” Mordred says, glancing up from scrolling through something on his phone.

“It’s not a date,” Arthur says, giving Mordred a pointed look for some reason and receiving a ‘what did I do?’ shrug in return.

 

***

 

Soon after they return, both Arthur and Mordred waltz off to their bedroom. There’s no doubt about the purpose of their departure and it’s not anything new either. From what Merlin can tell, the two have very healthy sex life and are not ashamed of it.

What’s new though is Merlin’s reaction to the thought of their bedroom activities. Low simmer of arousal in his belly and his cock hardening could be blamed on several days without release, but Merlin knows better. 

He might be trying to ignore the matter by repeatedly reading the same paragraph in a book that caught his fancy during his last shift, but his mind keeps straying to an image of Mordred gasping Arthur’s name as Arthur fucks him into the mattress. Or the other way around, his mind supplies. His cock twitching at the thought, Merlin groans, slams the book shut, and slinks off to his room.

He feels dirty for jerking off while thinking about what might be happening mere metres away, but he can’t stop neither his thoughts nor his hand, driving himself to a messy orgasm.

 

***

 

“You’ll come crawling back,” Merlin reads after two weeks of radio silence.

He stares at the message, anger rising in his chest. He taps at the screen, following the routine he did at least a dozen times but never finished. But this time when the final block button appears on the screen, he jabs at it hard and without hesitation.

He blinks a few times, a shaky breath leaving his lips, and only then he realizes what he just did. His hands tremble from the rush of relief and accomplishment. Tears spring into his eyes and roll down his cheeks. A laugh escapes him, ending in a sob.

“What’s wrong?” Arthur asks and only then Merlin realizes his surroundings, both his friends watching him with worry in their eyes, sitting on the edge of the sofa, ready to move closer at any given moment while the movie plays in the background, dynamic music, characters shouting, sounds of a car chase.

“I blocked her,” Merlin stammers out, grinning through the tears. “I blocked her,” he repeats, just for the kick of more joy and relief that saying it out loud brings.

“That’s great,” Mordred says, wide smile on his face, and moves from the couch, going for a tight hug that makes Merlin sob harder even when he’s not sad at all. “Aww, honey,” Mordred mumbles into his neck, not letting go and stroking his back.

 

***

 

After he cries himself out and soaks several tissues Arthur brought him, Merlin feels light-headed and wrung out. A cup of hot cocoa and three cookies later, the movie rewound and restarted playing in the background, Merlin feels sleepy and content and full.

“You could come to bed with us tonight,” Arthur says.

Nightmares seem like a distant possibility in his current state and he almost declines, but then he thinks about the tingling pleasure of platonic human touch, the warmth, the comfort. And it’s not like he’s the one asking. Arthur is offering.

“If you don’t mind,” Merlin says, not wanting to sound too eager.

“I wouldn’t be offering if I did mind,” Arthur says.

“Besides, having two hot guys in my bed? A dream come true,” Mordred adds, letting out an exaggerated yelp of pain when Arthur gives his head a playful slap.

That’s when Merlin remembers his increasingly alarming wanking habits...

 

***

 

Climbing on the huge bed completely awake without panic pushing at his mind feels way different. Just as last time he’s terribly conscious of the space around him, but this time he’s also thinking about the activities that take place here on regular basis. He pulled himself off in the shower in an attempt to stave off the awkwardness of an inappropriate erection, but he’s not entirely sure it will be effective enough. He curls up on his side just in case, snuggling into the blanket.

Arthur is the next one to slip under the covers. He moves around for a few moments, then stills, then moves again, shocking Merlin completely when he presses himself to his back.

“Is this okay?” he asks, mirroring the words from the first night Merlin spent in this bed. 

Merlin hums his assent. He’s straying on a thin ice here, risking popping a boner sooner than will be reasonably explainable by the strange phenomenon of morning wood, but Arthur’s warmth all along his back feels absolutely fantastic, and he doesn’t want to give it up. His compliance comes with a reward of Arthur wrapping his arm around him and pressing even closer.

“Don’t let him bully you into cuddling,” Mordred says as he connects his phone to a charger. “He’ll survive if you say no.”

A stab of guilt hits Merlin’s stomach. He’s taking what isn’t his. He’s using his friends’ generosity in the most disgusting way possible. Thinking about their sex life. Imagining being a part of it. Imagining being loved. He can’t even choose, lusting over them both. What is wrong with him?

“I should leave. I have no right to be here,” Merlin says, not meeting Mordred’s eyes, pulling away from Arthur’s embrace, ignoring Arthur’s quiet sound of discontent. . 

“That’s not what I meant,” Mordred says, hastily crawling on the bed and blocking Merlin’s escape. “You’re not a burden.”

“I…” Merlin starts.

‘I betrayed your trust,’ he wants to say. 

‘I don’t deserve you.’

‘I deserve punishment.’

‘I’m worthless and she was right.’

“Stay,” Mordred says before Merlin manages to speak more. “Please,” he adds, and Merlin can’t resist the honest plea in his voice.

He lies back down, relaxes back into Arthur’s hold. Mordred switches off the lamp on his bedside table and finds his way under the covers, curling on his side facing away from Merlin, giving him space.

Merlin thinks about the vulnerability in Mordred’s voice, about his earnestness. Thinks about how tactile he is in general. He reaches out, touches Mordred’s arm.

“You can move closer if you want,” he whispers. 

“How close?” Mordred asks.

“How close do you want to be?” Merlin asks back.

For a moment, Mordred doesn’t move, but then he shifts back, slow and careful, until they’re nearly touching. Merlin lays his hand on Mordred’s side, lets it slide forward and down to his stomach when Mordred leans in the rest of the way. 

“Goodnight,” he mumbles and hears two goodnights in return.

 

***

 

“I think we should tell him,” Mordred’s voice brings him out of slumber.

“It’s too soon,” Arthur says. “It’s been barely eight months. He needs time to find his footing.”

They’re talking about him, unaware that he left work early because of a very persistent headache. 

“He deserves our honesty. It’s not fair to him,” Mordred says.

“But what happens if you’re wrong?” Arthur says. “You’d be basically taking his home away.”

Cold dread starts spreading through his stomach. What are they talking about?

“It breaks my heart seeing him like this,” Mordred says. “You must have seen it too.”

“Maybe. I don’t know,” Arthur says with a sigh. “What if we’re seeing only what we want to see?”

The conversation ends at that, leaving Merlin with anxious knot of nerves in his stomach and a persistent feeling he must have done something wrong.

When he emerges from his room almost an hour later, he doesn’t confront them, instead he makes them believe he only just woke up.

 

***

 

They must have realized he’s in love with them. There’s no other explanation.

It took him a few weeks to come to terms with what he feels, but he’s certain now. He has feelings for both Arthur and Mordred. Feelings that run deeper than just an infatuation linked to sexual fantasies. 

If he’s honest with himself, he’s always been a bit in love with Arthur. In a way. Mostly platonic but definitely always present way. For Mordred he fell in the last few months, about that he’s fairly sure. 

Now that he knows, he has to find a way to hide what he feels, to leave no trace of it, to accept that friendship is all that he’ll ever get and there’s no point in telling himself otherwise.

He starts by not going to their room when one of the now thankfully rare nightmares hits.

 

***

 

His plan works perfectly. Until…

There’s a book lying on the kitchen table. ‘More Than Two: A Practical Guide to Ethical Polyamory.’ He stares at it, curiosity warring with wariness. His curiosity wins.

He picks the book up and leafs through, stopping at a page bookmarked by a folded piece of paper. “Triad” reads the chapter title. He quickly skims it, his heart beating fast, yearning filling his stomach.

Now it’s absolutely sure they know about his feelings.

Letting out a heavy sigh, he picks up the bookmark, ready to put it back in its place, when he notices the words “what could be” handwritten on both sides of the folded paper. Frowning in confusion, he unfolds the paper and… he must be dreaming.

There’s a picture of all three of them together, a selfie they took in Puzzlewood, with one big lopsided heart around all of their faces.

 

***

 

“Please, tell me it’s not a joke,” he says when Arthur and Mordred finally arrive back to the flat, his voice weaker than he wants it to be.

His fingers are nearly cramping with how tightly he’s gripping the book. His whole body tense.

Arthur looks confused until his eyes skim the book cover.

“You didn’t…” he aims at Mordred.

“I most certainly did,” Mordred says. “And no, it’s not a joke,” he continues without missing a beat, soft smile on his lips. “I couldn’t watch you hurting any longer,” he says, stepping in front of Merlin and burying his fingers in Merlin’s hair, gently scratching his scalp. “And I missed having you in our bed,” he finishes, leaning down and kissing the tip of Merlin’s nose.

 

***

 

They talk. For hours, days.

They touch. Gentle. Careful. Daring.

They whisper apologies. They forgive.

They live. And love.

The flat has a guest bedroom once more.

 

***

 

“Happy anniversary,” Mordred murmurs, their lips brushing. 

Merlin gasps, his mind blanking as the pleasure mounts. 

Mordred’s mouth on Merlin’s neck, his hands running up and down his torso. Arthur’s lips wrapped around Merlin’s cock, his fingers playing with Merlin’s sack. 

Long seconds of blissful tension. 

Taut muscles. Breathing shallow.

And finally... 

Sweet release.

Happy anniversary indeed.


End file.
